


hungry is the ghost

by sidusmane



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Dubious Consent, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Rape/Non-con Elements, References to Drugs, Vampires, a love story in bodily fluids, also i suck at tagging so if i missed something im sorry, author has issues and this is copingtm, if this doesn't make any sense its because i wrote it while tripping balls on acid and weed sorry, not descriptions of the act though, self harm mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-27
Updated: 2020-02-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:02:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22887481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sidusmane/pseuds/sidusmane
Summary: Will gives and Hannibal wants.
Relationships: Will Graham & Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 4
Kudos: 72





	hungry is the ghost

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know how to begin to explain this. I wish I was sorry but I'm not. Although I am sorry about not being sorry.  
> BBC Dracula, as bad as it is, is having its moment with me and it won't let me go (I blame Claes and Mads both being adorable danish dad figures to me lmao). Whatever fucked up shit goes on in my mind and Hannibal are always having its moment with me and they won't let me go either. You put that together with some licit substances with illicit substances you get this. Heavily, massively inspire by Jayle Jayle's No Trail and Other Unholy Paths, Emma Ruth Rundle and Marissa Nadler. I higly recommend listening to them while reading this to set the intended mood.

It all started because of Will’s extreme disregard for his own well-being, being far too clever for his own good but not actually able to be bothered to run when faced with life-threatening situations. It always felt like he had a voice inside of him, singing to him whenever he faced danger, and instead of screaming with all its might to run and save himself, it whispered sweet melodies that made him calm and pliant. Willing, even.

He had been a cop before. He had been a _great_ cop. He had been stabbed before. He had faced danger looking straight at him with claws and fangs sharp and hungry and yet...

-

He stands in an open field staring at the newest tableau presented by the Chesapeake Ripper. 

The body lies in a makeshift bed of leaves and branches found around the field, a young girl wearing a black slip dress, unruly long curly red-brown hair adjusted to appear as a crown around her head, adorned with red geraniums entangled in her curls. Her arms were neatly crossed at the hands right above her belly button, skin looking stark pale in a contrast against the dress and the makeshift bed. Will notices, with a small twist of his stomach, she looks _clean_ , and she smells _fresh,_ like flowers.

She even looks… _Peaceful_.

WIll has to begrudgingly admit how beautiful it looks before his eyes. 

He kneels.

The moonlight shines upon the scene, evoking a sense of eeriness Will hasn’t felt in forever, but he doesn’t dare deny the shiver running up his spine as he really takes the scene in and processes it. No dirt under her nails, no scrapes or cuts to indicate struggle against her killer, no bruising either. It almost looks like a poisoning because of the lack of marks in the body but then he catches sight of her neck and finally _sees_ the neat incision in her neck.

‘Yeah, it is exactly what you’re thinking. She’s been _drained_. Sick bastard, it’s not enough to remove organs but now he’s also draining blood.’

Will startles, but somehow manages to keep a somewhat confident posture before the master bloodhound Crawford. The older man looks repulsed, revolted and _tired_ . So _tired_ . As he looks to the body on the floor, Will can sense the man fuming with rage and something else he can’t quite place. Crawford has been brought to states of _blind rage_ with scenes far gorier than this one, but something tells Will this _quiet fury_ brought by this particular tableau is far scarier and dangerous than the barking and shouting he’s grown used to. It unsettles Will in a way he doesn’t understand, and he always understands, he always _knows_.

‘This is… Different. Unusual. If it wasn’t for the presentation I would never say this is the Ripper. It doesn’t _feel_ like the Ripper.’

‘What the hell is that supposed to mean?’

‘Look,’ Will stands above the girl, with the body between his legs, head slightly turned to the side like dogs do to enhance their hearing. ‘She doesn’t present any signs of struggle, nor an incision to indicate removal of an organ. The only wound she has is the cut on her neck, nothing else. If I didn’t know any better I’d be inclined to tell you she _knew_ her killer, she _knew the Ripper_.

Will pauses, lets his words sink in the already troubled, _panicked_ Crawford.

‘Will-’

‘I might be wrong, because this differs entirely from the previous murders, the only remaining constant is the presentation but we’ll have to wait on blood tests to see if he drugged her or whatever the hell he did to her before putting her out here so as to literally not single a single mark.’

Crawford notices the tremble in his voice and stares. He smells the feverish scent of panic and despair at finding something different - something new - the Ripper has done and he can’t have his men spiralling like this.

‘He subdued her - God knows how - then drained her and put her out here and didn’t leave a single bruise on her body, th-this is something else entirely, it looks so clean and neat and perfect, I don’t-’

  
  


‘Will.’

Graham is trembling, physically trembling now, and Crawford fights the urge to put a heavy hand on his shoulder, to calm down the panic coming off off him in waves, but he knows better than to touch Will when he’s like this: so raw and open he’s almost vibrating.

‘She’s so young,’ Will kneels again, taking one of her hands into his own, feels the weirdly smooth and soft texture of it and it takes every cell in his body to not let a tear stuck in his eye fall - but he does shudder. ‘She _was_ so young. And the worst is, she looks _peaceful_ , as if she knew what was coming to her and _welcomed_ her fate.’

-

‘You look terribly distraught-’

Hannibal stares at the slim figure anxiously fidgeting and exploring the area around his desk and chair, instead of accepting the usual chair in front of him. He’s patient though, having known the other man for long enough to recognize patterns and behaviours, having gotten inside his head deep enough to help the younger man navigate the muddy waters of his troubled mind.

‘Having to look and dissect the murder scene of a young woman drained of her blood entirely and arranged like a queen in the middle of nowhere can do that to you,’ he says nervously, chuckling in a failed attempt to lighten his harsh tone. Will knows Hannibal doesn’t _like_ rudeness, doesn’t _tolerate_ rudeness, but still he couldn’t bring himself from the edge he currently finds himself in, wishing he had the courage to just make the jump and sink into the depths of the ocean inside his mind and not care if he drowned or not.

Hannibal waits, ever the patient saint.

When he’s sure Will isn’t paying enough attention to his surroundings, he sniffs, letting his head fall back for a bit before reminding himself he isn’t entirely alone in the room, no matter how out of himself his company is.

Will smells faintly of cheap chemical cleaners, tell-tale signs he was recently in a crime scene. He assumes poor dear Will drove straight from the crime scene to his office, to try to find a way to calm the water of his mind as soon as possible - how _endearing_ \- but a second sniff reveals dirt, fear-induced sweat (Hannibal’s had enough experience to tell apart) and something sweet and fresh, almost sweet like... 

Oh. 

He’d found his latest piece of art.

No wonder the younger man is in such a state, about to flood over the seams of his torn and worn human suit. Hannibal did leave the girl - and what a catch the girl was - _especially_ for Will to find. The selection process to find her had been a trial of his patience on its own, but seeing now how it made his cub feel, and they had barely touched the surface yet, makes Hannibal positively _giddy_ with excitement.

‘Why don’t you have a seat first? Your hovering isn’t going to do anything other than make us _both_ feel anxious,’ Hannibal offers. Will turns his head to catch something in the other man’s eyes that wasn’t there when he looked at him when he was being led into the room minutes before. His mind was too much like a live wire to be able to coherently process anything right now, so Will settled for taking the damn seat and trying to relax as much as he could.

Hannibal’s eyes linger over his form, politely measuring him up and down, scanning every single line of his body and expression, in practiced facsimile sympathetic worry. Will feels his eyes on him, and at that he finally seems to relax more into the seat, as if he was going to melt together with the cushion at any minute now. 

Hannibal knew Will liked this, _thrived_ on this, this _polite_ persistence and intrusiveness. He gave the younger man as much time and space he needed to unfold, but Will knew he eventually _had_ to unfold for Hannibal, as unwilling as he sometimes felt, as a way to repay the _kindness_ for not pushing him over the edge, for not _barking_ at him, for letting him be until he felt comfortable enough to simply let the dam flood over its barrier, unafraid his overwhelming emotions might hurt anyone near him.

But Will _had_ to unfold, _had_ to melt, _had_ to flood. He simply _had to_. 

Or else those patient and calming eyes would turn into daggers cutting into him until Will became a sweaty, shaking mess of stress and anxiety over the scrutiny of being simply seen. Hannibal never had to do much to break Will apart, practise with others before him made it easier but with Will it was so _simple_ that sometimes it _hurt_ how _simple_ and _easy_ it was to have the man sitting before him into a puddle of sweat and tears.

For Hannibal’s amusement, Will eventually does unfold and relax, but can’t seem to look into his eyes, so he settles for the small victory of compliance gotten from the younger man. He notices his hands stay crossed at the fingers, as if in a prayer. The glint of a smile is too strong to resist.

‘Do tell Will, what exactly has gotten you in this state?’

Pensative. Hunched, tense shoulders. Heavy frown.

‘We got a call from local police about a crime scene, a possible _Ripper_ scene. Crawford immediately had me out of Wolf Bay and driving to nowhere to see the scene for myself, of course.’

Hannibal watches with glee the tension emanating from the man sitting across him. ‘Spare the technicalities, Will. I’m far more interested in the emotional and psychological aspects of this particular scene,’ he offers, he watches Will with hawk eyes recline back in the chair and is delighted to feel the waves of fear threatening to topple him over again.

‘It didn’t- It didn’t feel like the Ripper. The body was too clean and immaculate to be a victim of the Ripper. We know he’s been harvesting their organs but in this case it seems he didn’t take anything, nothing _but_ her _blood_ . I understand the harvesting of organs but why the hell would he take her _blood_? And nothing else? He’s drained other victims before, surely, but with it he also took other organs, not just the blood.’

Will looks absolutely beautiful. Overwhelmed with emotions he can’t quite explain and so, so vulnerable it physically hurts Hannibal not being able to reach out just _yet_.

‘Tell me how she was found. You tell me the Ripper usually presents his bodies in some form of artistry, and it’s possible in this artistry of his some answers could surface, no?’

‘He wanted us to find her at midnight, and in a night the sky was clear so she was completely illuminated by the moonlight. He-He chose her attire based on the lighting of the place, he dressed her to make her look absolutely stunning in the setting he created.’

At that, Will visibly shakes, hands furiously grabbing each other harder now.

‘He subdued her, drained her of her blood, cleaned the wound and her entire body, dressed her up and arranged her with flowers in her hair, which in turn was arranged on the ground like a crown, as if she was some twisted queen of something. She looked _beautiful_ Hannibal. Completely _enthralling_ in her own crime scene. It felt like he was _honouring her_.’

Will rises from his seat, too much tension bubbling under his skin again to be able to remain seated. Hannibal watches.

‘And the worst of it all was that she looked _peaceful_ . Positively _peaceful_ with what happened to her. It didn’t look like the other victims from the Ripper, where he transformed them into something useful because they couldn’t even be that while they were alive, no, with her it was different because he didn’t take anything from her, other than her blood, and didn’t butcher her up to make something beautiful out of her. It was like-’

‘He was trying to externalize the beauty he saw within her’.

Will gawks for a moment, before reminding himself of where he was and _who_ he was with. Hannibal doesn’t hide the delightful chuckle when Will visibly flinches to get back some of his posture back.

‘Exactly. She wasn't cattle to him, like all the others. No, she was-’

‘Valuable? Special?’ 

Will looks lost in thought again, which Hannibal allows. ‘You mentioned she was drained of her blood, while all of the other victims from the Ripper had some organs harvested. Would there be a special reason for _her_ blood?’

When Will doesn’t respond, Hannibal continues: ‘Blood is lives. We carry all we ever were, are and will be on it. One could argue it’s what truly makes us alive. Maybe there was something about this victim’s blood that made her stand out to the Ripper.’

At that, Will does respond. He moves to fetch his coat from the seat, hurriedly says his goodbye and flees the office.

Hannibal smiles.

-

Will sobs.

Will throws the files and sobs into his hands like he hasn’t in years.

That’s why it had felt personal when Will looked at the crime scene, at _her_ crime scene. Will wasn’t famous for his social interactions, especially interactions with students, but he’d never imagined one day it would make him so guilty before. _He_ knew her, _Will_ knew her and the connection that was missing was right under his nose all this time.

Crawford had guided Will to thread the same thin like he was walking himself, to keep eyes open for bright new recruits but not draw them enough before full training to the point of reckless naive curiosity with classes with enough information but not all the information on current cases. 

Will remembers clearly now of the interactions between them, one in which she pointed out a major point of connection between two cases ‘clearly’ unconnected. Other in which she begged to be let inside the _files_ , not on the field mind you, on the Chesapeake Ripper because she’s made a remarkably plausible connection between four victims after one class and with limited important information that took Will almost two weeks and a lot of _stimuli_ from Crawford having all the access.

The Ripper knew _her_. But that would mean-

No. It couldn’t be.

-

Will dreams of blood red fields under the moonlight. Blood under the moonlight appears quite black, very much like the same colour Will saw on the crime scene, on the way he dressed her for the presentation. He dreams of holding her sleeping form in one arm and the other a knife to her throat. He copies the incision on her neck and gently kisses the wound, until he’s desperately sucking and drinking her dry.

That’s when it hits him. The uncontrolled, _unfiltered_ amount of information about her spilling into him as he drinks from her, her feelings and emotions and thoughts, all of her secrets and desires spilling into him, filling him up like he was empty before and he feels, he knows, he sees it on the image reflected in a pool of blood.

He feels a hand pull his head back by the hair and a set of sharp teeth bite into his own neck. He feels clawed hands gnawing at his skin, engulfing him until there’s only darkness, the faint smell of geraniums and a feeling of contentment warm in the depths of his belly.

When Will wakes up in a pool of cold sweat, feeling out of breath and so _suddenly_ tired, the first thing he grabs is the file with the crime scene photos. He spreads them out on the floor and circles it everytime he sees it as if to prove himself he’s not going crazy, that his eyes aren’t betraying him and the marks are really there.

She didn’t have any other _fresh_ wounds other than the incision on her neck but that doesn’t mean she didn’t have _old_ wounds, healing wounds or any apparent kind of _scars_ . Will didn’t see it at the crime scene because he _didn’t_ see the body with the arms _uncrossed_ , but now he had in the files photographs with the arms _uncrossed_ and there were the _very_ apparent and discernible scars on the insides of her arms, _self-harm_ scars.

Not stable enough but somehow still inside the FBI. Some manifested, _wore_ their traumas into their skins, others in not so palpable, visible places. Where would you go if you couldn’t wear your trauma in your skin anymore, you had to bury it deep down like a beast lest it came back wreaking havoc without a gentle but firm guiding hand to help you tame it?

-

Hannibal smells it before he even opens the door.

Intoxicating.

He wonders if the fear is because he already knows or if the emotions are towering over him again and he’s trying to make sense of the entangled mess he’s in. Whatever it is, it makes Hannibal ache on the insides with a hunger he hasn’t felt for decades. Ever the wanton glutton, Hannibal was never one to refuse a feast when one presented itself at his feet, especially one smelling so deliriously appetizing as this.

Will had called him in the middle of the night, in complete terror of his discovery. Hannibal had tasted it in his dreams and desire never burned so hot in his insides before. It coiled and lashed out, hurting and scarring whatever it touched, a blind, furious and unstoppable need to consume the being falling apart at his feet. 

Hannibal did always love breakdowns. Complete and utter loss of control. Pure and unadulterated vulnerability. They tasted like heaven itself made palpable and edible on Earth, the finest meal only gods were worthy of. Wanton, hedonistic, _needy_ thing. If only they knew.

‘Will. I need you to stay calm for me, can you do that?’

He visibly couldn’t, which pleased Hannibal all the more. Will is shaking and trembling at his feet, barely inside the living room. The doctor swiftly grabs the younger man and places him on the bed, where he remains unmoving, feeling his limbs heavy and numb. Pliant. Gentle fingers finds his vital signs on his neck and with it a cut that definitely wasn’t there the day before. Will winces at the contact of the digits with the wound, but when he tries to move away finds he can’t, body sluggish, heavy and unresponsive.

‘It’ll pass in a moment. Can’t have you risking any damage to yourself.’

Hannibal’s hands cup Will’s face and he can’t bear to look at those sharp eyes stabbing through his very being, finds himself unable to move to look away and resigns to letting his eyes fall closed, suddenly very heavy as well. He lets out a sigh that looks and sounds more like a scared whimper and Hannibal’s hands _squeeze_ tight around his throat.

‘Clever, clever boy,’ Hannibal inhales, and doesn’t repress the obscene moan escaping through his lips. He stares at the man crumbling right in front of him, absorbing and taking in every single expression the other makes, burning them into his retinas so he would never forget them.

‘If I give you back your speech, will you entertain me with a conversation?’

Will feels so heavy, body numb with the flooding substances swimming in his blood, only manages to slightly lower his head in an attempt to nod. He opens his eyes just a fraction to see the older man smile fondly at him, sighing at the sight before him.

They used to talk about this kind of scenario, where Will would be so far gone inside his own head he’d become unresponsive to the outside, emotions so overwhelming and suffocating to the point of thinking about resorting to- No. Certainly, Will had thought about it, remembers clear as day the first time in college he had an episode and accepted the acrid smelling joint in an attempt to keep things at bay. 

It had been sublime.

The beast inside of him wasn’t gnawing at his insides anymore, threatening to claw open his chest and feed off of his outsides. Will felt like floating in an endless ocean where the waves cradled him to serenity instead of despair. He felt peaceful.

He felt peaceful.

Will’s brought back to the present when the hands in his face descend to his throat once again and he feels the prick of sharp, pointy teeth in his neck. Hannibal takes long, obscene slurps at his throat and Will can’t help but moan at the sensation. His eyes open wide at the sight Hannibal is when he pulls away, lips stained red with the red of his blood. It doesn’t take long for the effect to change, body still sluggish and slow but the mind somewhat more awake and present than before. 

Will whimpers, low and weak.

Hannibal sits back on the chair facing the bed, taking his time to make himself comfortable, and crosses his legs, pulling out from a pocket a handkerchief. Will’s eyes slowly focus again to follow the movements, mind struggling to keep track of what’s happening. Then he sees the hunger in those piercing eyes and wonders if that’s what she saw before whatever happened to her next. He wonders if she felt as scared as he does now.

‘You drugged her, in the same way you just did to me. That’s why she didn’t struggle, she _couldn’t_ struggle. You had her _pliant_ , that’s why she didn’t have any signs of struggle.’

‘Not entirely,’ Hannibal smiles, watching a shiver go through the other man’s body. He must be feeling it now, the bond they now shared kicking in full effect as they speak. ‘Why the blood, William? Why that young woman in specific?’

Hannibal closes his eyes, and lets the memories and the sound of Will’s crescending panicked whimpers wash over him.

‘You both taste so exquisite. Minds so bright it sets the rest of your bodies on fire. Both are so troubled by the hurricane living inside of you. She wasn’t easy to find, but when I did, I couldn’t help but _consume_ her. The first time she crossed the threshold of my door I could smell the delicious ailments tormenting her, the same ones tormenting you. It wasn’t long before I knew she was the one to lure you with. She was definitely a vintage I didn’t hurry.’

Will feels sick.

‘You drained and drank her because she was like me?’

‘I believe I’ve said to you before that blood is lives. Stories flow in our veins if you know how to read them. Her unique mindset ran through her veins, a remarkable empath setting herself on fire spiralling out of control, very much like yourself. A vintage so rare and fine any connoisseur would die to get their hands on. Her suffering tasted ever so delightful, and in feeding me I’ve given a purpose for all that blind torment. I gave her the piece she so longed for.’

‘She was suicidal.’

‘And had taken to drugs to barely get by in daily life. She was the one who gave me this idea, of intoxicating my prey so their taste wouldn’t be soured by fear. Lovely clever creature she was.’

Will feels it as Hannibal gets closer to him, he feels the waves of _warmth_ and _love_ radiating from him and it makes his body start shivering again, it makes him feel sick to his bones. The older man moves fast, easily lifting him from the bed to carry him bridal style. Gentle, intimate.

‘You broken, remarkable lovely beings. So beautiful in your pain. I am really looking forward to seeing how susceptible you are to what I have planned for you.’

Hannibal bites, groaning low and dangerous, barely having to exert any kind of force at all to keep the body is his arms unmoving. Will feels the rush of endorphins hit his body and the heaviness strikes again, leaving him unresponsive to his assault. _Pliant_.

-

He doesn’t know how he comes back to himself, with the sensation of heaviness still strongly present. He doesn’t try to move his arms or legs, finds them numb and lethargic, very much the rest of his body and mind. What Will does feel is gentle hands taking off his clothes and comfortably positioning him on the spacious bed. Will sobs, a noise so low Hannibal only registers because of the closeness between them. 

‘I see you’ve returned to us. How lovely of you to join me.’

Will can barely shake his head in protest when there are hands on him again, and he freezes when he feels the bed gets heavier with another body on top of it. Hannibal climbs on top of Will, inclining to steal an inhale before hands reach to grab at nick and turn his head, inspecting the wound on his neck.

‘How do you feel? I’m afraid I did take a lot of you in a single bite and made you more intoxicated than intended.’

Will wants to scream at the calm, even, _worried_ tone Hannibal uses. The doctor leans, lapping at the wound and gently easing it open again instead of sucking him dry right away. Will tries to wince at the pain, but soon enough a new wave of endorphins hit him and he’s left trembling heavy and docile, mind going numb. He doesn’t register Hannibal moving his arms above his head and holding them there, doesn’t register him opening and settling between his legs. He registers nothing but the sweet embrace of stupor and nothingness.

He feels a vague burning sensation in his bottom, feels curious slicked fingers prying him open for further intrusion. Will feels a hand sliding from his neck down to his belly, pushing fabric away to stroke him to hardness, eager and possessive.

At that, Will whimpers and squirms, trying to get away from the persistent hands with unwelcome touches and the furious teeth gnawing at his neck. Hannibal tuts, but decides to remove his hands altogether from the man beneath him to sit back and watch the uncoordinated escapade happening before his eyes. 

The younger man manages to turn into his stomach with severe difficulty, body refusing to obey commands. He’s about to reach the end of the bed when Hannibal sees it, Will already hard and leaking. It takes less than a second for Hannibal to pounce over him, hand firmer and stronger now to properly hold him down.

‘I have no wish to restrain you but if you try to make this unpleasant for yourself I’d be more than happy to oblige,’ Hannibal growls, slow and dangerous into Will’s ear before pushing his head away to bite and really drink his fill now. 

One of his hands snakes beneath his belly and he smiles into the warmth of Will’s neck, vigorously stroking the man as he devours him. Hannibal settles once again between his legs and the hand holding Will’s head goes straight to his opening, fingers gently circling the skin before actually penetrating the muscle.

The change of taste goes straight to Hannibal’s groin and all self-control he has flies out of the window. Hannibal lines himself up and pushes, reeling in the feeling of Will contracting and pulsing in pain around him. He thrusts, synching his movements with taking long gulps from Will, both not entirely in their own bodies anymore.

He feels sublime, as high as Will probably feels right now and he never wants to come down.

-

Wolf Bay is stunning at night, it looks like it belongs to an exhibition for the prettiest desolate places. Will loved it exactly because of that, the beautiful isolation it provided him. No neighbors to complain, no noisy people to gossip about him or to him. 

Wolf Bay was safe. 

Wolf Bay was Will’s.

He didn’t have much in the present, other than the ever present feeling of lightheadedness and and numbness and Hannibal.

In the beginning Hannibal couldn’t keep his hands from Will even if his life depended on it (Hannibal’s life kind of did depend on it and Will was _ecstatic_ when he found out about it, a long lost feeling of power, of control). Will was always only kept awake if Hannibal could stay watching him, and when he couldn’t, Will felt like the ocean was being dropped on him, the high of endorphins so strong he could barely breathe. Hannibal made it so Will would find his absence _unbearable_ , and he could only resist so much conditioning.

Will began to break and Hannibal began to ache for something other than blood, the void inside of him demanding more than just sustenance.

-

‘Are you going to keep me like this forever?’ A bag of blood and meat ready to be snacked on whenever you feel _peckish_?’

‘Not _peckish_. Hungry.’

Will glares, because right now it’s the only he finds himself able to do so and the fire born of pettiness in his belly flares, flames getting higher. He would pounce on the other man if he could, rage burning on his insides.

‘I wasn’t aware there was a difference.’

Hannibal sighs.

‘There’s _want_ in hunger, not in peckishness.’

Hannibal mouths harder at his neck, and he feels it, flooding over him so hard he thinks he’s suffocating. Will feels the hunger, the longing and the need, all encompassing and unforgiving in its wake. He never thought this much desire was even possible to exist. What really coils in the pit of his stomach - warm and comfortable - is the realization that after all this time someone truly wants him, desires him just the way he is, doesn’t try to change him.

Encouraging. Nurturing.

‘I would turn you, if you would have me. I would have you be truly ageless and by my side for eternity. If only you would have me. I would have feral and ravenous with the same hunger I feel so we could feast together. If only you would have me.’

-

He surrenders.

**Author's Note:**

> i know this is a mess but its my mess and im glad i decided to share my mess i just had to get this out of my system


End file.
